


Vicchan by My Side

by whichstiel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Flirting, Friendship, Ghost Dog, Ghosts, Hasetsu, M/M, Pre-Relationship, how Yuri got Vicchan, katsudonbang2017, no dogs were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Growing up, Yuri’s poodle Vicchan was his wellspring of calm. Perhaps that is why, as the Cup of China looms, Yuri hears Vicchan’s playful bark echo down empty corridors or sometimes feels the brush of an unseen animal against his ankle. Real or imagined, Yuri needs all the help he can get to help him deal with the pressure of looming competition - and his confusing, ever-evolving feelings for Viktor Nikiforov.





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Katsudon Mini Bang, 2017. 
> 
> Everyone! Go tell my artist [giraffe-in-the-box](https://giraffe-in-the-box.tumblr.com/) how awesome they are! 
> 
> Huge thanks to [utlaginn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/utlaginn/pseuds/utlaginn) for beta reading.
> 
> A big thanks to the mods for a great experience and a beautiful banner!
> 
> And a great big hug to all the fine writers and artists for this challenge. It's been a delight getting to know ya!

The resort gleamed like a jeweled box in the early evening light, bauble-bright lanterns shining along the walls, and Yuri felt a bone-deep satisfaction. He’d done it. With the local championship clinched, he could now focus all his energy on preparing for the first competition of the Grand Prix series - the Cup of China. 

They’d taken the afternoon train back home from the championship in Kurashiki together - he and Viktor. It had been a quiet, but companionable trip, as Yuri made lists in his head of things to work on with his coach.

His coach. Yuri still felt a delicious prickle every chance he had to say “Coach Viktor” aloud. This weekend alone afforded him at least a dozen times to crow the honorific to every news outlet willing to listen. Viktor, for his part, seemed to enjoy the role immensely. The way he’d beamed at Yuri at the end of his free skate…

“Do you hear music?”

Viktor’s question shook Yuri out of his reverie. “Music? Ah--” 

_ Oh, yes.  _ He did actually hear music. He could hear blurry pop beats blaring out of the old sound system in the dining room and, curious now, Yuri veered away from the family entrance and headed around to the front door. There were three things in the whole world that could cause such a ruckus in his family’s resort. Though they were pint-sized, Yuri wasn’t surprised to push his way into a party already in full swing, three mischievous girls in the corner giggling around a phone with an old stereo cord jacked into it.

Minako and Takeshi relaxed as they knelt in front of a table sagging with half empty trays of savory and sweet treats - they had arrived back in Hasetsu late that morning. Mari settled across from them laughing raucously at Minako. She gestured wildly with a half eaten piece of persimmon daifuku - his father’s specialty dessert. Yuuko barrelled through the other milling guests - half of them in onsen robes - like a bullet train, heading for the three pop princesses squabbling loudly over the music. The party had apparently been going on a while. Empty cups and crumbs decorated the tables and the room brimmed with the relaxed laughter that wine and harder liquors tended to bring about.

“Yuri!” He blinked as his mother sprang in front of him, bunched up into an excitable coil, and pulled him forward. “Yuri’s back,” she announced, needlessly. The dozen or so people in the room turned to him as one. A cheer rang out and Yuri felt a blush consume him all the way up to the tips of his ears. Viktor laid a comforting hand on his back, fingers spread wide and steady and Yuri transformed entirely into a torch of mortification.

“Mom, what’s all this? It was only…”

His mother engulfed him in a massive hug. “Congratulations.” She patted his cheek. “We knew you could do it. Top of the podium! You’ll be off to the Grand Prix Final soon.”

Yuri opened his mouth to protest. Yesterday couldn’t approach the importance of the Grand Prix series. The very fact that he’d had to do a local competition to even enter the series should be reason enough to bury this accomplishment as far under the sand as it would go.

On the other hand, it had been unexpectedly fun. He closed his mouth again and smiled shyly at the room. 

“Th- thank you for your support, everyone.” 

He’d barely ducked his head when his mother tugged at his arm, then reached around him and nabbed one of Viktor’s shirt sleeves. “Come! Come,” she said. And just like that, Yuri was folded into the party.

Yuri, for his part, did his best to survive the celebration. He accepted a glass of champagne pushed at him and downed it quickly. He rarely drank while he was actively training (and he was almost always actively training) and on an empty stomach the alcohol worked quickly. Warmth bubbled under his skin and he felt his anxiety begin to unwind in the face of the happy partygoers. It didn’t hurt that almost as soon as he’d entered the party his family and friends had turned back to each other, ready to allow him to slip in and out of their conversational circles at will.

Minako rose from her table and pulled Viktor aside with a piercing look and a muttered, “We have some things to talk about.” She stabbed a finger at Yuri, whose eyes widened in surprise, and then at his sister. Yuri took the hint, peeling off to sit by his family as Viktor stumbled behind Minako like a sacrificial goat. 

For a moment Yuri stared after them, watching Minako settle Viktor forcibly down at a table in the corner. She wore her lecture face.  _ What could she possibly have to talk about? I should help Viktor _ . But a long ingrained habit of absolute obedience to Minako took over and he settled next to Mari, helping himself to a shrimp instead. Minako and Viktor were both adults, after all. He shook his head a little and made an effort to join the conversation at the table.

Yuri took his second glass a little slower and turned over the events of the last forty-eight hours in his mind.  _ It feels good to have a fresh competition under my belt.  _ The weight of his failure at last year’s Nationals had stalked him like a slavering wolf, ready to swallow his career whole. He had tried to shake that by practicing Viktor’s routine to some degree of success and Viktor’s unexpected arrival had been like an earthquake, completely upending everything.

But rediscovering his joy of competition yesterday was the true surprise turn.  _ I feel strong. Like I could do anything. Like I could win. I could get the gold _ , he thought.  _ I won’t let Viktor down.  _ He closed his eyes, took a conservative sip of wine, and then settled it on the table, pushing it towards the trays and away from his seat. This had to be his last glass or the curse of the drunken Katsuki would surely rear its head.  _ In front of Viktor. _ Yuri shuddered at the idea and shifted his focus to the food, forcing himself to pay attention to the wild story Takeshi was spinning about his cousin’s latest fishing trip.

The evening unfolded rapidly and soon the guests thinned to Yuri’s closest friends and family. Takeshi was trying to round up his three children, who made it difficult by playing some kind of complicated game of hide and seek under the tables. Yuuko and Mari sat around another table exchanging city gossip with Yuri’s parents. And Minako and Viktor were still settled at the corner table, by all appearances holding a drinking competition. As he watched, Minako emptied her cup then lifted up a bottle of what looked like whiskey and tried, hopefully, to refill her glass. When nothing but droplets poured from the bottle, her mouth drew down in a despondent grimace and she pushed herself up from the table. She wove unsteadily away in search of more.

Yuri chuckled, deciding that was his cue to head towards Viktor. Somebody should intercede in their drinking - or at least try to curb it with some food. Minako and Viktor were both champion drinkers but already Viktor looked blurry around the edges, his smile a drunken slur across his face as Yuri settled next to him. Under the table, Makkachin thumped his tail and pushed his nose into Yuri’s knee. He reached down and absently stroked Viktor’s dog, scratching behind his ears. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat?”

“We’ve run out of whiskey,” Viktor pronounced carefully before propping his arm on the table and grinning widely at him. “Yuri,” he slumped against his hand and laid his other on Yuri’s arm. “Have you been drinking?” His brows went up, opening his face into a hopeful expression.

“I- A little.”

A sly smile bloomed on Viktor’s face. “Good.” He leaned in close enough for his chest to press against Yuri’s arm. His ice blue eyes held Yuri’s for a long moment and then he settled his head onto Yuri’s shoulder with a sigh, snuggling in like a cat. “So, how do you think it went?”

For a moment, Yuri’s brain short circuited. Over the past few months he’d mostly grown accustomed to Viktor’s baffling lack of boundaries. Sometimes it still crept up on him though. It wasn’t discomfort. No, there was an overwhelming  _ rightness _ to having Viktor in his space, in his arms, under his hands. Yuri ordered his brain to shut up and then frantically tried to remember the question. 

“What?” he managed to squeak out.

“How did the competition go for you?”

“Oh ah.”  _ Was this a test? _ “I messed up my jumps. I should have paid more attention to the flow of the—“

“No, no. Yuri. We’ve been over that. How did my coaching work out for you? My first time coaching at a competition.” Viktor sighed heavily and nuzzled his cheek against Yuri’s sweater. “It’s a new experience, being a coach.”

Yuri subconsciously straightened his spine, a Minako-trained reflex. “It was very good.”

Viktor’s low laugh rumbled against his arm. “Not what you think I want to hear. How was it for you?”

“Your coaching?” Yuri repeated stupidly.  _ It was excellent. Fantastical. Undeserved. _

“Mmm hmm. To see everything from the sidelines. It’s a little…” Viktor trailed off on a low hum as though searching for a word. “Unsettling.”

“Oh.” Yuri looked away. Something cracked in his chest.

“I’ve remade myself so many times on the ice. But this is the first time in years I’ve tried to create something new off the ice.” Viktor pressed closer, pinning Yuri’s arm between himself and Makkachin. “I think-- I just want to do a good job.”

“Viktor. You do. You’ve made me go so far. So much farther than I thought I could. You’re a good coach. And I swear to you I’ll--”

“Nnnngh,” Viktor’s cheek slid down his arm until his head was cushioned on Yuri’s forearm.

“Oh,” Yuri exhaled, frozen and afraid to move his arm. Was he asleep? Should he just shift his arm and leave him here? “V-Viktor?” Something like a snore answered him.

A few minutes later Minako came swaying back to the table, took one look at Viktor and snorted. “Lightweight.” She set down the bottle. “Well, I’ll take that as my cue.” She tousled Yuri’s hair affectionately and then floated off, leaving Yuri alone with Viktor’s quiet breaths on his arm.

Yuri shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to decide what to do. Somebody help him -  because he was a hair’s breadth away from running his fingers through that soft, silver hair. Carefully, he moved his arm. 

“Viktor?” he whispered.

“Yes?” Viktor’s answer was quiet, but he was definitely awake.

Yuri jumped, jostling Viktor’s head and Makkachin alike. “Oh! I thought you were asleep.”

“Mmmm. Thinking, is all.” With a groan Viktor hefted himself upright and looked around, seeming to register the now nearly-empty room. Yuri’s family, Viktor, and Yuri himself were the only remaining partiers. His parents looked at the wrecked platters with twin looks of exhaustion.

“I should help clean up.”

“Okay.” Viktor laid his forehead on the table with a  _ thunk _ . “I’ll just stay here, alright? I’ll just close my eyes for one minute.”

Yuri caught his sister’s gaze and they exchanged one of the silent conversations they’d perfected over the years.  _ Well, he’s a wreck. _

_ No kidding.  _ Yuri rolled his eyes towards the collection of glassware on the table in front of him. “I’ll just help Viktor to his room,” he said aloud. “And then I’ll help out, okay?”

Mari smirked and nodded before shooing their parents off to bed.

“Viktor.” Yuri wrapped one arm bracingly around his back, tucking one hand under his shoulder and tugging. “Let me help you get up.”

“ мудак ,” Viktor said with a smirk, but he stood at Yuri’s prompting and allowed himself to be steered down the softly lit hallway to his room, Makkachin’s nails clacking softly behind them. As they walked, Viktor half sang, half mumbled, 

“Мишка косолапый по лесу катание на коньках   
Шишки собирает, песенки поет.” 

He tapped Yuri on the nose with a fingertip and added, 

“Бронзовый медаль отвалилась прямо мишке в лоб. _  
_ Мишка рассердиля и ногою топ!” [Fn 1]

Viktor stamped his foot at the end of the song, drawing them to a halt for a moment as he snorted - actually snorted - with laughter. Viktor’s gravity seemed to increase, and Yuri groaned. He made a renewed effort to tug Viktor upright and lead him the rest of the way down the hallway, Viktor humming in his ear. 

Yuri guided Viktor to his room and hesitated for a moment. The lamp in the corner was on, wrapping the room in soft golden tones. He should leave Viktor at the doorway. But Viktor dragged on his arm like an anchor longing for the bottom of the sea. If he let go, Viktor might actually sink to the floor. The thought of the ordinarily graceful Viktor falling was enough to compel Yuri to steer him all the way to his bed. Carefully, he maneuvered Viktor to the mattress. Or, he tried. Instead, as he attempted to swing the other man around to the bed, Viktor tightened his arm around Yuri’s neck and they both went down, Viktor half under Yuri and giggling. Makkachin barked and leapt up on to the bed. He pranced around their heads, clearly ready to join in on this new, fabulous game.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Yuri hissed automatically, trying to extricate himself from the most puzzling configuration of arms and legs and--

Viktor continued to chuckle, his arm held tight around Yuri’s neck. “Got you,” he said before letting Yuri go and flopping his arms out on the bedspread. He smiled at Yuri and then half pushed, half rolled himself the rest of the way onto the bed. He smacked his lips happily and extended an arm for Makkachin, who enthusiastically licked Yuri’s hands before burrowing with a look of doggy bliss into his side. “Hmph. Good night, Yuri.” Viktor tucked his nose into Makkachin’s fur with a sigh, his features swiftly collapsing into peaceful repose.

_ Well. That was abrupt.  _ Yuri pushed his glasses, unseated in the unexpected tackle, higher on his nose.. “Good night,” he said softly. He crossed the room and switched off the light, then headed for the doorway.

“Yuri.”  _ Oh. Not asleep. _ Yuri paused at the door as Viktor’s soft voice filled the darkened room. “Yuuuuuuri. You’re beautiful on the ice, did you know that?”

“I—“ This wasn’t the first time Viktor had told him this. But there was something about the way he was softly murmuring it in this quiet, private space that prickled under his skin and made the breath catch in his lungs.

“You’re beautiful off the ice too. Did you know that?” His tone shifted into song so light Yuri could barely hear it. “You’re amazing just the way you are…” Viktor nuzzled his nose across Makkachin’s fur.

Dimly, Yuri felt himself press against the doorframe. “I--”

“Mmmmm,” Viktor said. “Beautiful,” he mumbled before his breathing evened out and he seemed to sleep at last.

Yuri stood there for what was quite possibly several lifetimes, his racing heart tearing him to the point of dizziness. Viktor had called him beautiful.  _ Him _ \- not just his skating. 

Viktor was also drunk off his ass.

He shook his head, struggling for clarity. Right. He had to help Mari with cleanup. He stumbled unsteadily back down the quiet hall.

Cleanup turned out to be painless. Mari, for all her exhausted inn-worker affect, was an extremely efficient host. She had over half the room tidied before Yuri arrived to help, his cheeks still faintly rosy. If she noticed, she was too kind to say anything. She simply shoved a bus bin at him and put him to work clearing tables while she pulled out the after hours cleaning supplies. Yuri was finished and tucked in bed before he knew it. 

He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, barely illuminated by the outdoor lights penetrating his thick curtains.  _ Sleep _ , he willed himself.  _ Sleep. You’ve got to skate in the morning.   _ Rest didn’t come, though. His mind traveled in spirals, centering in on Viktor, then his latest free skate stumbles, then what must be perfected before the Grand Prix series...and right back to Viktor again. Yuri groaned and flopped over in bed, shoving his head into his pillow to try to force his mind blank. After four hours of boomeranging between attempts to sleep or numbing his mind with games on his phone, Yuri gave up. Yawning, he tripped down the hallway and slid open the door to a little family alcove. The room held storage, exercise equipment, and the family butsudan. Yuri slid the door closed behind him and sighed. 

The wood of the butsudan shone copper in the first morning light. Shadowed shelves set into the wall held two vases filled with slightly dusty artificial flowers. Buddha smiled serenely down from the top shelf at a photo propped between the vases. Yuri spread his arms and smoothed his hands over the hinged doors on either side of the shrine before kneeling, tucking his feet together, and pressing his hands onto his knees.

Vicchan,” he said, and then sighed heavily. “You were always there for me. I wish you could be here now.”

Yuri rubbed his head, exhausted. He reached out and took the picture frame, cradling it in his hands. The frame held a photo of Yuri, caught in a laugh and crouched next to his dog. He couldn’t remember the context of the photo. Had there been a party? Who was just out of frame, drawing the poodle’s attention? He should remember these things. The boy in the photo felt like a stranger, with so many years and oceans of travel between them. Yuri traced the edge of the frame, and then put it back on the shelf next to Vicchan’s old collar tags. 

Regret was Yuri’s constant companion. He should have been prepared to deal with how he felt as he knelt before the family butsudan. But a sob lodged in his throat, waiting to spring like a coiled muscle, and he stopped breathing as he tried to control the burn in his chest. He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Out.

“Oh, Vicchan. I miss you. I wish I could talk to you.” He dropped his head to his hands again. “There’s- there’s a boy. Er, a man. My coach.” His voice dropped to the barest whisper. “It’s complicated.” 

Yuri remembered his first day as Viktor’s official student. He’d bowed before him then, in supplication, as he would before some abstract god. 

“He used to be perfectly untouchable. Now I know that he slurps his soup. He’s pushy and self-absorbed. He spends entirely too much time on Instagram. He’s got this ridiculous, huge bust in his room. Seriously. He sent it here from Russia. I mean, why? He’s a master of the cutting comment. And he’s ridiculous. He laughs all the time. Last week he dragged me halfway around the island for a fishing festival. I loved every minute of it. Me! He’s a terrible gamer.” Yuri laughed quietly and shook his head. “Seriously hopeless. But he’ll try anything. Everything. I’ve never met anyone so...open to life before. He loves his dog. And he believes in me.” Yuri sighed. “He used to be perfectly untouchable. But now he’s just--he’s perfect. Oh, Vicchan...”

The room fell silent, save for the distant sounds of his family - probably Mari - stirring in preparation for a new day of business. Yuri traced idle circles across his thigh. 

“When Viktor was abstract I could worship him and still live my life. But now…” Yuri looked out the window, staring at tree branches silhouetted like cracks through the glass. “Now I don’t feel complete until I see him in the morning. But I can’t-- He is my coach.  _ He is my coach _ .” Yuri rubbed fiercely at his forehead, as though he could dislodge the vision of Viktor contentedly snoring on his bed, a dog peeking out from under his arms.

“You always listened to me. My truest friend.” Yuri bowed his head, eyes losing focus as he stared at his hands. “I’m trying to decide if I’m crazy for wanting what I want. It’s like there’s a fire inside me all the time now, burning under my skin. My heart is going to swallow me whole. What should I do?” he whispered. “What should I do?”

No answer came except for the quiet noises down the hallway. Yuri gave up any hope of sleeping and headed for his room to get dressed. He could stand to put in an hour - or five - at the Ice Castle before Viktor caught up to him.

**________________**

The next morning Yuri woke to the feeling of soft curls against his chin and a warm, small body pressed against his shoulder. 

“Vicchan...” 

He sighed and brought up a hand to scratch behind his dog’s ears. His fingers closed on air, scraping the pillow, and he woke completely. The feeling of lying in a warm, safe cocoon evaporated like mist on a warm day. 

Yuri opened his eyes, his fingers a blur against his pillowcase and he groped for his glasses and then his phone, thumbing it on to see the time. He groaned. It was way too early to be awake. From the gray light beyond the curtain, it was barely past dawn. Still, after months of training with the always eager and early to rise Viktor, Yuri had grown accustomed to waking at a certain time and he knew he’d be unable to fall asleep again this close to sunrise. 

Yuri dropped his phone to his chest and blinked at the ceiling. He raised one hand to run his fingers lightly along his cheek, remembering the sensation of fur.  _ How strange. _ Even when he’d been at his loneliest, homesick and alone in Denver, he hadn’t dreamed of Vicchan. And while it wasn’t entirely unusual for Yuri to wake disoriented from dreams, he couldn’t remember the last time he had dreamed something so innocuous. So  _ happy. _ Yuri took a deep breath, then flexed his feet and raised his arms above his head, using the familiar burn of stretching muscles to ground himself in reality. 

He lay comfortably in bed for a while, scrolling through his phone until the sunshine edging into his bedroom turned rose pink. By the time Yuri dressed and headed down the long hallway towards the dining room, the dream he’d had of Vicchan sleeping beside him had faded entirely.

In the dining room Viktor greeted him, already well into a plate of french toast and fresh fruit. “Good morning, Yuri,” he said cheerfully as he gestured to the table with his fork. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send Makkachin in to wake you up.” Beside him, Makkachin jerked his head up with interest, his eyes riveted on Yuri. He whuffed softly.

“It’s still early,” Yuri huffed defensively before ambling into the kitchen for some breakfast of his own. Returning with food in hand, he folded to the mat across from Viktor and cradled his chin in an upturned palm. He tried and failed to suppress a yawn fueled by two nights of poor sleep. “You know Makkachin just curls up on my bed and goes to sleep, right? Sending him to wake me is like sending a--” His sleepy brain searched for an appropriate metaphor. “A robin to do a rooster’s job.”

Viktor laughed. “I’d like to be woken by a robin. Anyway, if you’re going for bird metaphors I think snuggly duckling is a little more accurate.” He moved to ruffle his fingers through the poodle’s hair, but Makkachin jerked away with a sudden whine. Viktor paused, staring at his dog. “Makkachin?” The dog turned towards Viktor and whined again, long and high. His tail began to drum the floor. “What’s wrong? Do you need to go out? Excuse me, Yuri, I’m just going to--”

Yuri nodded, already shoveling food into his mouth. When Viktor and Makkachin returned, he had managed to eat enough to wake up a little. “Everything okay?”

Viktor looked down at Makkachin trotting at his side. His brow creased slightly and he grunted in answer. Makkachin was usually an ebullient dog, with a tendency towards wide furry smiles. He seemed to be on an unending quest for attention. Even when Viktor wasn’t present, Makkachin would solicit snacks or belly rubs from the nearest person. This morning, however, Makkachin paced alongside his owner quietly, and when Viktor settled across from Yuri again, Makkachin pressed close against his side. The dog stared at Yuri and yawned widely, his tail working a furious drumbeat on the floor. 

Yuri picked up a piece of tamagoyaki in his fork and held it up, looking to Viktor for approval. Viktor smiled slightly and Yuri shook the egg from his fork to the table edge. Makkachin’s mouth snapped tight, head tilted for a moment as he examined the offering. Then, in a flash, he devoured the egg. Makkachin leaned against Viktor in a satisfied slump and Viktor laughed, tangling one hand into his top curls.

“Just begging for food, Makkachin? That all?” Yuri asked. “The way he’s acting you’d think there was a rabbit tap dancing on the tables.”

“Right?” Viktor pulled Makkachin into his arms, floppy paws looped over them like an overstuffed toy, and continued to eat his breakfast around the dog. “Today,” Viktor said in a tonal change Yuri recognized as signaling his shift to coach mode. “We’re going to focus ice time on choreography drills.” He shoveled one last piece of fruit into his mouth and said around the too-large piece, “No jumps today.”

Yuri began to scowl, then checked the impulse immediately. “Viktor, that should be _ all _ I’m practicing right now.”

“Tsssch,” Viktor said with a raised brow and turned back to his breakfast. “You know what you need to work on, Yuri. Your artistry. Your presentation. Don’t let that high score get to your head. Your style was sloppy at your free skate and it was sloppy yesterday.” He shrugged. “Though I suppose yesterday could be due to lack of sleep.”

“What? I--”

“Oh, yes.” Viktor reached across the table and gently traced a line under Yuri’s right eye. Yuri froze as his finger trailed delicately up his cheekbone before Viktor pulled his hand away. “Did you sleep at all after the party? You look better rested today.” 

“I, er, thank you? I mean, no. Uh, yes. I am better rested today.”

Viktor smiled. “You say you always build your score with your presentation but from what I saw…” He shook his head, a mock look of sorrow passing over his face. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Yuri deflated, resigned to spending at least a day, perhaps more on nothing but presentation and, as Viktor liked to put it,  _ becoming one with the music _ . All while having to curb the impulse to launch himself into the air at regular intervals as he practiced slices of the routine over and over again.

Still, the return of Coach Viktor settled something in Yuri.  _ This is the way it should be _ , Yuri thought. Coach and student working towards a single goal: the Grand Prix Finale.  _ I’ve got to make it through to the end this time. I can’t shatter to pieces this time. I won’t. I can be strong. I can do this. _ The Cup of China advanced in his mind now like an outsized beast. He stared at his food and thought,  _ if I mess up, it’s over. I’ll be forever known as the ‘late bloomer’. _ He shuddered. He hated that term. To him it meant that it was far too late to ever hope to catch up.  _ And even if I do, some other young skater will have succeeded me anyway.  Viktor will go and I’ll-- I’ll-- _ . 

But, of course, there was nothing to fill in there. Without skating, his future was like an unfinished painting, loosely penciled in and half-conceived.

“Yuri? Yuuuuri?”

Yuri snapped his head towards Viktor, an embarrassed blush rushing to his ears. “Sorry!” he said automatically. “What?”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Did you hear anything I’ve said to you?”

Yuri racked his brain desperately, trying to fish something from his subconscious - but he finally had to admit defeat. “No.” He dropped his head. “Sorry, Viktor.”

Viktor laughed, though a small pucker appeared between his brows, the way it did when he was puzzling out how to verbally break down a jump. He stood, Makkachin still cradled in his arms. “Ice in an hour,” he finally said. “Meet you there.”

**________________**

Viktor arrived at the rink a little later than usual, lacing up his skates with uncharacteristic silence. But as soon as he hit the ice he immediately began outlining goals for the day. “You’re warmed up already?”

Yuri nodded. He’d had more time than usual for warm-up, in fact, and had just been contemplating stealing some time to practice the quad flip - but of course, that was before Viktor arrived. Until he landed it, Yuri didn’t want Viktor to know he was even attempting the jump again. 

Before the free skate routine had been set, he had trained extensively with Viktor on jumps. He’d asked to learn “all the jumps Viktor could do” - but really, Viktor had blown right past the quad flip. He’d demonstrated it at Yuri’s urging, but it was clearly something he considered beyond Yuri’s reach. This burned in Yuri like a hot coal. He’d come closer yesterday morning - he was sure of it. Videos on his phone showed a steady progression. Maybe one more practice, one more try, and he’d have it.

But Viktor was here, so Yuri slid into the comforting routines of practice. His thoughts fell away as he lost himself in repetition. They broke the routines down and ran through them section by section. 

Endless choreography drills and one stretching break later, Yuri spun his body into a triple flip, skate cracking down on the ice with enough force to echo throughout the rink. Viktor didn’t flinch, and he didn’t comment at Yuri’s open defiance of his “no jumps” directive. He stood like a reed frozen in ice, still and silent with one finger laid gracefully along his chin. His gaze followed Yuri but he didn’t seem to notice a thing. Yuri pulled out of the landing and circled the rink, shushing to a stop in front of Viktor. 

Viktor jerked his head up, eyes narrowed as he focused on Yuri for the first time in nearly a quarter hour. “Why are you stopping?” Viktor demanded and then wiggled his fingers in a sweeping motion. “We’ve still got another twenty minutes.”

Yuri wished he had his glasses on because he swore he could see worry lines cracking the corners of Viktor’s typically carefree expression. “Viktor,” he said gently. “Do you have any idea what I was just practicing?”

To his surprise, Viktor turned pink.  _ That’s new _ , Yuri thought, and tried desperately not to assign any labels to it.  _ Adorable _ .  _ Gah, too late. _

Viktor arched his brows and tossed his head back to clear his hair from his face. “You should be breaking down  _ Eros _ .”

“Yes. I should be. But I wasn’t. What did I just do?”

With that, Viktor deflated and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I know,” Yuri said with a low laugh. “What’s on your mind?”

Viktor looked down at one skate, actually scuffing it along the ice like a nervous child. “Did Makkachin seem off to you this morning?”

“I--” Yuri tilted his head, thinking about it. He had acted a little strangely - tense, perhaps. “He seemed...a little different,” he said, trying to hedge around what Viktor seemed to want to hear. “Are you concerned?”

“Mmm. He was very strange as I was leaving the resort this morning. Quiet. Too quiet.” Viktor laid his fingers across his face, hiding his expression from Yuri. “He had some problems last year. I suppose I worry that--”

Fear rushed through Yuri like an incoming tide. “Problems?”

Viktor shook his head, still obscuring his face with his fingers. He seemed unwilling to meet Yuri’s eye. “It’s probably nothing.”

Yuri laid a hand on Viktor’s shoulder and squeezed gently in reassurance. “We don’t have to practice right now, Viktor. Would you like to get Makkachin checked out? Make sure everything is okay? I’ll be fine training on my own.” In response, Viktor dropped his hand from his face and Yuri slid back a little in surprise. 

When he had first started getting to know Viktor, he’d been amazed at how  _ soft _ Viktor truly was. He’d hidden it well as a professional skater - hidden it behind winks, polite smiles, and sunglasses indoors. That softness was always there, though, even on the rink chewing out Yuri over technique. But the expression he now wore went beyond soft. He looked vulnerable. Hurt. Yuri hated it. He leaned in and prepared to argue his next suggestion. “Or I could go with you.”

At that offer, something eased in Viktor and he smiled for the first time since breakfast. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Yuri was already skating towards the rink edge. “Let’s go.”

The veterinarian's office offered to fit them in early that afternoon, so they waited together in Viktor’s room with Makkachin curled up on Viktor's lap, nose shoved into his clothing. Every once in awhile the dog would loop his head up to peer over Viktor’s arm at Yuri or glance around the room before snuggling in again. At a quarter to two, Yuri grabbed his sister’s car keys from her and bundled Viktor and Makkachin into the backseat.

Yuri tried to will his roiling stomach to calm down as he drove them to the veterinarian’s office. He hadn’t been back to Oonishi’s in over six years. Not since Vicchan’s last checkup with him. Of course, Vicchan had been back to Oonishi several times in his last year without Yuri. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and turned into the parking lot. 

Oonishi’s was just as he remembered it - clean and sparse with mint green walls and a shelving unit running along one side of the waiting room which held an array of prescription foods, pet washes, and ointments. A simple blue shelf ran along the opposite wall, lined with tiny bud vases; some of them held snipped chrysanthemums with papers twisted around the stem. If he had been here when Vicchan died then he would have written the lamentation, wrapped it around a flower, and placed it in a vase. He’d never asked who had done it for Vicchan. Maybe Mari or his mother - something delicately penned, short, sweet, and loving. Surely their words were better than anything that could have come from Yuri, who still felt half tongue-tied in grief nearly a year later. Yuri tore his gaze away from the flowers and focused on Viktor.  

Viktor sat on a long, wooden bench in the waiting area and held his dog, his face nearly blank with worry. “I'm sure Makkachin is fine,” Yuri said, wanting to ease that look on Viktor's face. “Maybe he caught a virus or...or, ate something?”

The veterinarian bustled in before he could spin out any other flimsy theories. She was a round dumpling of a woman who greeted all of her patients with the same wide, calm smile. Yuri instantly began to relax, as he had any time Vicchan had come in for a checkup. “Yuri!” she said, “It's so nice to see you again!”

Yuri smiled at her. “It's good to see you. It's been a--” He lowered his head and focused on his fingertips. “This is my – my coach – Viktor.”

“Ah,” she nearly twinkled at him. “So I've heard.” She looked at Makkachin, nestled in Viktor's arms. “And this is?” she asked in Japanese. Yuri translated for her in soft English. 

“Makkachin,” Viktor said, drawing the dog closer.

“Hello,” she said in English before slipping back into Japanese. “Nice to meet you, Makkachin. Come. Come in. Let's have a look.” She gestured to a nearby examining room. 

The examining room was small, with a silver island and cabinets jutting from one wall and two plastic chairs snugged in a corner near the door. Yuri hung back behind Viktor, restless hands shoved into his pockets as the veterinarian examined Makkachin. The poodle seemed to calm under her careful hands, and Viktor relaxed as she asked him quiet questions about his medical history. Yuri did his best to translate, stumbling occasionally as they ran up against medical terms which Yuri had simply never needed to learn in English. Eventually he pulled out his phone and together the three of them cobbled together an adequate medical history. 

By the time Oonishi had technicians ready to take Makkachin to the back room for a blood and urine draw, Viktor was smiling and Makkachin strained to jump from the table and explore the office, tongue lolling as though the tense morning had never happened. 

Doctor Oonishi smiled at Makkachin as one of her technicians lifted him off of the table and prepared to bring him to the back room. “They always do better here. It’s the excitement of the office.” She pumped her arms vigorously. ”The adrenaline.”

Viktor nodded as Yuri translated her words and he bowed his head. “Arigatou gozaimasu,” he said as she escorted Makkachin from the room. 

“He'll be fine,” Yuri assured him again. “She’s a great doctor. If there’s something wrong she’ll find it, okay?”

Viktor nodded, though he still looked uncertain, and his smile disappeared. “Thank you, Yuri.” He prowled around the small room, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Yuri had never seen him look so small. Finally, Viktor threw himself onto one of the chairs. He tapped his foot against the floor in a nervous staccato. “Yuri, the veterinarian knows you. Do you-- Did you have a pet?”

Yuri settled into the other chair and nodded, planning his words. “Yes. The family dog. I got-- We got him when I was twelve.” The last sentence came out very quiet.

“Ah, I always wondered about your phone case.”

“What, why?”

“It's covered in poodles, Yuri.” Viktor huffed a short laugh. “So you either had a dog yourself or you're a bigger fan of mine than I thought!”

Yuri blushed and his heart thudded at how close to the truth Viktor had come. “He was a great dog,” Yuri said, simply. “I miss him.”

Viktor scrunched his face as though trying to work through the math of Vicchan's age. “How long ago? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Ah.” Yuri took a deep, trembling breath. “Last year. Last-- Last December. He got sick. And...he died.” Yuri felt that old ache consume him and he hesitated, just a moment, before confessing, “Just before the Grand Prix final.”

Viktor’s eyes widened and he laid a hand across his open mouth. “Oh, Yuri.”

Yuri leaned onto his knees, embarrassed at the instant leap of understanding and open pity he saw on Viktor’s face. He had just dropped a giant, sticky ball of emotional hang-ups onto this conversation. The old Yuri would have backed away from it, retreating into silence. But he was trying to change - to be better, more open. 

“I tried to tell myself that it was the family dog that had died. That somehow we were all mourning him equally. But that wasn’t true. Vicchan was my dog and I hadn’t been home for five years. Between school and living abroad and coaching fees, I couldn’t afford to fly back to visit.” He sighed. “You always think it’ll get easier. It’ll get better. But that’s not true. Not with everything.” Yuri stared hard at a poster advertising heartworm medicine, eyes burning. “I hadn't seen him in five years. It--” Yuri shrugged.

Arms wrapped around him, squeezing hard and Yuri jolted in surprise. “I'm so sorry,” Viktor whispered close to his ear. “That must have been hard.” Yuri nodded stiffly, feeling himself melt in minute portions into Viktor. 

“Makkachin is getting old,” Viktor said in a half whisper. “With his heart murmur... He seemed fine but I didn't know if this year would be his last or--?”

Yuri laid his head against Viktor's, wrapping his arms around him in return and rubbing gentle circles on his back. “I'm sorry. He’ll be okay,” Yuri said, unwilling to think about a scenario where that was false. They were still wrapped in an embrace when the veterinarian returned with Makkachin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1  
> I wanted Viktor to sing a nursery song from Russia and came across [“A clumsy little bear was walking through the forest.”](http://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=3219) I changed the words a little bit to involve skating. I like to think that Yakov once sang this to wee little Viktor after he was grumpy over a third place finish. And it’s stuck with Viktor ever since. Here’s the translation:
> 
> A clumsy little bear was skating through the forest  
> He was gathering pine cones and singing songs.  
> A bronze medal fell directly on his forehead.  
> The little bear got angry and stamped his foot  
>  [ return to text ]


	2. October

In the end, Doctor Oonishi could find nothing seriously wrong with Makkachin, and in the course of a week Viktor’s dog gradually returned to his normal goofy, oversized puppy personality. If he occasionally stared too long at swirling dust motes or barked at shadows, it was apparently within Viktor’s tolerable limits. As Makkachin’s mood reverted, Viktor returned to his usually sunny self off the ice - and his usual harsh critic on the ice. 

Training was relentless, every hour of the day finely calculated to maximize Yuri’s time. He was getting stronger every day; jumps he hadn’t dreamed of landing last year spun off the blades of his skates like they were nothing. At this point, Yuri could probably tie on a blindfold and, in the privacy of the rink, skate both routines perfectly and never hit the wall - or the ice. Most nights he collapsed into bed soon after dinner, desperate to let his mind and body recover before starting it all over again the next day. 

And on most mornings Yuri woke with the illusion of Vicchan curled up by his side. 

He’d gotten used to being tickled awake by poodle fur, the sensation fading only once he fully woke. That could easily be attributed to remnants of dreams. But there were other, less easily explained experiences. Sometimes Yuri heard barking down empty corridors, or felt the brush of something between his ankles as though a small animal darted between his feet. The illusions were always quiet, half-heard and barely felt. He’d never been able to find stowaway canines in the onsen; he never did see any anything rushing past his feet. Sometimes as Yuri fell asleep, warily pondering the morning, he wondered if he was slowly succumbing to madness brought on by exhaustion. 

The thing was, he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. The Cup of China was only weeks away now and Yuri could feel his stress levels rising. There was so much at stake and it took all of his focus to stay calm. If Yuri experienced delusions, they were the sort of hallucinations that helped, rather than hurt. When barking echoed down a hallway it was because Yuri curled in his bedroom, giving in to panic like a collapsing star, only to be jolted out of it by the familiar yap. If he felt an animal at his feet it was when he was doubled over in pain during training, doubting his ability to endure any more. In these odd moments he remembered Vicchan, his one constant childhood comfort, and felt warm. Safe. If this was madness it consoled him. If this was madness it saved him. 

One morning, Yuri woke from a nightmare about falling. He had been trying to jump, legs leaden in the dream. But every spin, every  _ thunk _ of the blade in the ice, drove him deeper into a frozen hole. His skates whirled in a barely controlled spin, his body whipping around like an afterthought and he struggled to stay upright against the inertia pulling him like a toppling top towards the walls of the pit. 

He couldn’t pull himself out. No matter how high he jumped, Yuri drove his body deeper and deeper, down to the black ice that lay just under the soil below the rink, ready to swallow him up. Yuri woke chilled from sweat and gasping, arms flailing against icy walls that weren’t there. He struggled to breathe. There was no air down there, under the ice. He inhaled with a loud, desperate rasp, exhaled, inhaled again - loud and painful - and felt like he was dying. His heart was failing. He was suffocating. This was the end. 

And then, suddenly, a warm weight settled on his chest, pressing like paw prints across his body. Coiling warmth spread from his torso to the tips of his hands and the balls of his feet. The illusion startled him from the panic attack, and gradually the burning in his lungs eased. Slowly, Yuri regained control over his body, the odd feeling of warm pressure on his chest fading to nothing. 

He lay still for several minutes, limp and sweating. His pounding heart ticked down until it once again beat slow and steady, as though he hadn’t just been on the brink of imploding. Yuri slowly pressed a hand over his solar plexus. It helped to feel his lungs moving. He kicked off the covers and pushed himself out of bed. 

At this time of night, the resort was utterly still. Yuri shivered in his sweat-soaked clothes as he padded down the quiet hallway, slid open the door to the family alcove, and slipped inside. Yuri didn’t bother turning on the light, since the weak moonlight streaming through the unshaded window was enough to illuminate the edges of the room. He collapsed in front of the butsudan and closed his eyes, the memory of the dream - and of his long absent dog - still fresh in his mind. 

“Vicchan,” Yuri said as he absentmindedly kneaded sore muscles in his leg. He already felt a little more anchored in reality - far from his sweat-soaked sheets.  “I woke up thinking you were there again. I should be feeling crazy, thinking you’re around. I’m always so sure you’re next to me, until I wake up enough to realize it was just a dream.” He drew the corner of his mouth up in a fleeting smile. “It makes me happy, even if it’s a dream. I feel like it’s easier to deal with...stuff.”

_ Stuff. _ What an overly simplistic term for what weighed on his mind these days. “I’m ready for the Grand Prix series. Truly. Last year I had so many doubts. I felt so far  _ behind _ everyone else. The fear is always there. It will always be there. But now with Viktor…” Viktor talked about Yuri winning the final as if his age was an asset, like walking away with the gold was a certainty, as if the thought of failure never crossed Viktor’s mind. The odd thing was, Viktor’s words of comfort and support weren’t actually all that different from Celestino’s. Perhaps it was the delivery that made the difference. “It’s like it’s a fact for him. The sky is blue and I’ll win gold at the Grand Prix final. It’s...it’s amazing.” 

“But this series - these competitions seem like they’ll be the easy part now. I practice, I skate, I prepare to compete. It’s so straightforward. But with Viktor…” He sighed. “Oh, I wish it were so easy to understand.” 

Viktor infused everything he touched with a kind of childish glee. He took so much joy in skating, as did Yuri. And off the ice, everything from the hard boiled egg vendors near the shore to the particular scent of the ocean breeze as it angled in off the coast seemed to delight him. Viktor submerged himself in the Kyushu province with the same gusto he did bathing in the onsen. Being with someone so relentlessly excited saturated Yuri’s own life, painting it with golden hues of joy he hadn’t felt since he first got Vicchan as a child. It was nice. No,  _ nice _ was too small of a word. It was vital - a ribbon of pleasure he could grasp onto when his anxiety threatened to scream. 

And on the ice… Yuri spent most of his life escaping into skating, the rink a safe bubble of isolation. But now he wasn’t alone. Viktor was there - always - on the ice or just beyond the wall, focusing on Yuri like he was the most important person in the world. Somehow, over this past month, Yuri’s bubble had expanded to include two. 

“Vicchan, I suppose you’ve just been on my mind lately. I lost you at the last Final and no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but think of you when I think of this year’s competition. I miss you. You were always there for me. And now I-- I might have someone new. For now,” he corrected. “For now.” 

He sighed. “Oh, I wish…” Speaking the words aloud, even to an empty room, felt ridiculous, overreaching.  

_ I wish I could be with Viktor forever. _

In the depths of the resort, a dog barked. Yuri swiveled around, head cocked to one side to try to pinpoint the sound. “Makkachin?” he murmured, curious. It was two in the morning. Surely Viktor’s dog wasn’t up and about without him. And even if Viktor were awake, Makkachin tended to be a very quiet dog indoors. 

Another bark echoed down the hallway. Yuri pushed to his feet and stepped out of the room. He held his breath for a moment, straining to hear…

_ There it was again!  _ Yuri hurried down the corridor, on alert. Half of him still felt like he was in a dream, suspended in a gentle hallucination of Vicchan. The other half longed for Viktor, always, hoping to find him and Makkachin enjoying a late night gallop around the onsen. They could be insomniacs together. But no light spilled around Viktor’s door, and Yuri deflated a little, disappointed.

Suddenly there was a chuckle from Viktor’s dark room and Viktor started speaking rapidly, quietly, in Russian. His words tumbled over Yuri who automatically and clumsily attempted to translate.  

“Wow, Mila! Het, Он этого не делал. Het!” Viktor laughed again. There was a pause, and then he said, “Oh, Yuri великолепен.” 

Yuri froze at the mention of his name. 

“Ты должен увидеть его кататься на коньках. Я пришлю вам видео. Het, het, сейчас пришлю. да, Ты увидишь его в Москве.”

There was another brief silence and then, “Ты спрашиваешь обо мне? Я себя хорошо чувствую. Cчастливый. Я счастливее, чем я чувствовал в течение долгого времени. Веселье, которое у меня было с Yuri... Hmm? Конечно я скучаю по нему.” He sighed. “я не знаю, Mila. Я не могу просто-” [Fn 2]

Yuri swiveled around, hot with embarrassment at eavesdropping. He walked quickly back to his room, barking dog forgotten. 

Guilt didn’t prevent him from trying to replay and parse out what he’d overheard. His Russian had improved over the past year but he still had trouble translating quickly when words were spoken rapidly. Viktor had been talking about his skating - he liked it, he wanted to share it with his friend and former rinkmate Mila. And he talked about feeling happy.  _ Happier than he’s felt in a long time _ . Yuri tried not to dwell on the words. But he wanted desperately to conflate the two conversation topics so that his skating and Viktor’s happiness were somehow linked. Wearily, he crawled back into bed and tried to tamp down the flare of euphoria that sparked up whenever his mind circled back to this new question:  _ Do I make Viktor happy _ ?

**________________**

Fall spread across the island like watercolor dropped in water, leaves shivering to brilliant orange and yellow along the mountain slopes. Yuri barely noticed it. His days were filled with blue and gray: the colors of the ice, and Viktor. 

After a particularly long practice, Yuri bent double in the locker room, carefully peeling socks off his feet. His  _ skin _ ached - red and sore across the bridges of his ankles, rubbed raw from the laces and sweat-soaked socks. Yuri massaged his feet gingerly, hissing a little at the throbbing ache sunk deep into his tendons and thinking longingly of the ice packs he kept in a corner of the freezer at home. If he hurried back now, he could spend at least an hour icing before Minako expected him at her studio. He stopped rubbing his feet the moment he noticed Viktor looking his way. Hastily, he unrolled a clean pair of socks and pulled them on. 

“Viktor,” he said, to cover his embarrassment at being caught in a moment of weakness, “what are you doing for dinner tonight? Did you ever get to Seko?” 

Viktor’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. “No! We should go tonight! You’ll go with me, right? We’re not training tomorrow.”

Yuri smiled at his instant enthusiasm and slipped on his sneakers before leaning back and cocking his head -  a casual mirror of his  _ Eros _ opening stance. “Alright. It’s a date.” 

Rose bloomed on Viktor’s cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the brilliant red flush Yuri could feel traveling up his neck.  _ It’s a date? _ He quickly donned his backpack.  _ What did I just say? _

“Ah, I’m just going to-- I’ll just--” He dropped a quick wave in Viktor’s general direction. “I’m at Minako-sensei’s until six. I’ll see you later.” And then Yuri ran - literally - out the door. 

If he seemed quieter than usual at the barre, Minako didn’t mention it. Yuri had never appreciated her practical demeanor more. He couldn’t believe he had thrown around the word “date” with Viktor. How embarrassing. If he could bury himself in a hole, never again to emerge, he would. Except then he wouldn’t have dinner with Viktor. It’s wasn’t as though he hadn’t eaten with Viktor hundreds of times since Viktor first arrived at the onsen. Still, Yuri’s mind kept circling to his own utterance - a  _ date _ \- and Viktor’s answering  _ blush _ . 

“Yuri!” Minako’s sharp voice sliced his thoughts to ribbons. “Straighten that leg. Watch your fingers!” Yuri gasped and snapped his mind back to the task at hand. Repentant in the face of her storm cloud expression, he paid steady attention the rest of the afternoon.

That evening Viktor waited for him in the front entryway, casually leaning against the wall with Makkachin draped across his feet. He was scrolling through his phone, hair swept forward, hiding his face. He wore soft, dressy slacks, a lavender silk button down, and a half smile. Viktor looked up when Makkachin whuffed softly, and Yuri smiled at him nervously. He looked nice. Nicer than usual? 

Yuri ran a hand through his hair. He was more comfortable in training gear and, around town, was far more likely to dress in casual jeans and whatever sweater looked cleanest. But tonight he’d made an effort, pulling on one of his few nicer pairs of slacks (he’d agonized in front of the mirror:  _ too nice? _ ) and a black button down. He bent to pet Makkachin and said to the floor, “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yes. I’m ready for our date.”

Yuri gasped a little and looked up at Viktor but Viktor wasn’t looking at him. He’d said it so lightly, but…  

Viktor laughed softly as he slipped his phone into his pocket and then nudged Yuri’s shoulder with his knee. “C’mon. I’m hungry.” 

Yuri snapped his mouth shut and after a moment’s hesitation - which he covered by giving Makkachin one last vigorous scratch - he jostled Viktor back. “You’re always hungry.” 

They strolled down into the city, stars rolled out like a blanket overhead and the sweet, salty scent of Hasetsu perfuming the night. As they walked Viktor began to half hum, half sing a song, hands shoved into his pockets and head tilted toward the sky. “I walked across an empty land. I knew the pathway like the back of my hand,” Viktor sang. 

Yuri smiled at the familiar words. Every line Viktor sang rolled like rainbows across the shimmering soap bubble of the moment. Any second now it would burst, but until then... Softly, uncertainly at first, Yuri joined in Viktor’s song. “Oh, simple thing,” he sang, a little off key. 

Viktor stopped walking abruptly, and turned to Yuri whose singing faltered at the sudden attention. A grin bloomed across Viktor’s face like he witnessed a miracle manifesting before his eyes. Yuri held his gaze and feeling deeply daring, placed his hand against the small of Viktor’s back, urging him onward. “Where have you gone? I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.”

“So tell me when you’re gonna let me in,” sang Viktor, a little louder, and Yuri kept up with his soft, unsteady accompaniment. “I’m getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin.”

Their low song swam in the quiet spaces around their nearly brushing shoulders. As the last note faded, Viktor holding the note with dramatic flair, it seemed as though Hasetsu released a breath it was holding just for them. The ordinary downtown noises flooded back, the sound of cars and people felt jarring after their slow duet. 

Yuri nodded at a blue and gold restaurant a block ahead of them. “Here we are,” he said, and the spell was broken entirely. 

Once seated at the restaurant, they ordered too much food for two people. “Viktor,” Yuri said with a laugh as the waiter walked away with their order, “there’s no way we can eat all of this.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, arms looped over the back, and grinned. “So we’ll bring it back for your family then.” He lifted his cup. “You sure you don’t want something to drink? You have the day off tomorrow.”

Yuri shook his head and said with a dramatic sigh, “Can’t.  _ Especially _ because it’s a day off. I won’t be able to work it off as easily.” He stared into the middle distance as though the Cup of China bobbed in front of them. “I can’t get complacent.” He turned to Viktor, meeting his gaze. “I’m so close.”

Viktor unhooked his arms and leaned on the table, resting his hands halfway across as though he’d thought about reaching for Yuri and then abandoned the plan. “I have every confidence in you,” he said slowly, a soft expression settling across his features. 

“Thank you,” Yuri replied. “I think I’m ready.” And the odd thing was, he did.

Viktor tapped his fingers against the table, his mouth drawn up as though in thought. “Ah. Yuri,” he said slowly. “About the competition.”

When Viktor failed to follow up with anything further Yuri leaned forward as well, propping his chin on his hand. “Yes?” 

Viktor sighed and shook his head. “Yuri, I let you down.”

“What? How?” Yuri looked at Viktor in shock, who in turn stared at the table where he pushed a finger across the wood as though herding an imaginary grain of rice. 

“I didn’t realize how things were for you, in competition. I wasn’t there for you at the Kyushu regional.”

“Viktor.”

“No, Yuri. You told me. Multiple times you told me how nervous you got and I didn’t believe you. I guess I approached coaching you like it was myself and I didn’t understand.” He met Yuri’s surprised gaze. “I really didn’t. But I’ll be there for you, fully, for the Cup of China. I swear it to you. And I just wanted you to know that.” He sheepishly grinned and shrugged. “Minako had a word.”

Yuri didn’t know what to say. He nodded. “I know. She told me weeks ago.” He smiled awkwardly into the silence, then sipped at his water. He suddenly, desperately, wished he had ordered a drink. Prompted by Minako’s half lecture, Yuri had been thinking about this over the past month. It was true, he’d been unsettled at Viktor’s absences from the rink, his casual view of warm ups, and his capability to drop tiny emotional land mines around during Yuri’s prep. It had been one of his more unique competition experiences, relying more on himself than on a coach shepherding him from one stage to the next. And it had been odd, to say the least, to receive free skate instructions from a dog-shaped tissue box. Yet he’d come away from the experience stronger, in the end. 

Viktor cleared his throat and drained half his drink. Yuri watched him curiously. He seemed embarrassed and that, more than anything, made Yuri extremely uncomfortable. “Have I ever told you about how I got my dog?” Yuri tossed the question into the breach and to his relief, Viktor seized onto it.

His eyes lit up in delight. “No.” He folded his hands in front of him and leaned towards Yuri. “Tell me everything.”

Yuri traced the condensation trails on his glass. “Well, when I was young I had a… I was a big fan of yours.” Viktor nodded. He knew this. “Yuko-chan was too and she brought in an article one day. An article about you and, um, Makkachin.”

“Oh! Were we the inspiration? Makkachin is great.”

Yuri laughed and felt himself blushing a little at what was surely to come. “In a way. You inspired the name, at least. I named him, um, Viktor. After you.”

Viktor’s face was like the dawn. “Your dog was named Viktor?”

Yuri nodded and resisted the urge to burrow into the wall. “Vicchan though, generally.” 

Viktor burst into laughter. “And your mother calls me Vicchan. What must she think of that?”

Yuri laughed along with him. Oh, his mother thought a few things, though she limited her commentary to mischievous eye twinkles and casually dropped facts about Viktor’s career that she couldn’t possibly have known unless she were an obsessed fan - or happened to be the mother of one. 

“So you got a poodle because of me. Yuri, that’s awfully sweet.”

Yuri held up a finger. “Ah, no.”

“No?”

“I wanted a dog, yes. A poodle preferably. But my parents were against it. They didn’t want a dog at the resort, potentially interfering with guests, shedding hair.” Yuri shook his head. “We weren’t a pet sort of family, before.”

“Really? What changed?”

“I was jogging home from the Ice Castle one afternoon. I had skates in my backpack and I was…” Yuri held his hands just barely above the table. “I was small at the time. It was a lot to carry.” He shook his head, the memory bringing forth a smile. “But I was determined to get stronger. I was skating every day by that point. I’d caught up to Yuko-chan. I thought eventually I might even compete against--” He gestured around at the table, encompassing himself and Viktor with one graceful swipe. “I wasn’t really paying attention. There’s not a lot to look out for on those longer stretches by the water. And then I tripped on something, there was a yelp, and I went down. So there I was, face planted on the sidewalk, palms scraped up, backpack up over my head. And I’m cursing with, um, the only two curse words I knew back then.”

Viktor laughed softly. “How scandalous.”

“And I’m lying there on the ground and this little dog...these little footsteps just walk right up onto my back. And Vicchan sits down on me, just like that.”

“Wow, so friendly.”

Yuri chuckled at the memory. “Looking back, he was probably just hungry and cold. I did have snacks in my bag, after all. But anyway. I roll over and he falls off of me. And I sit up and there’s this little brown poodle - kind of young, really dirty - just looking up at me. He does this little broken bark. Just a quiet huff. And that was it for me.”

Yuri smiled across at Viktor and pantomimed the rest. “So I took off my backpack and took out an extra shirt and one of Dad’s fish rolls and scooped him up. About a block from the onsen I took out my skates and put Vicchan inside. I was going to smuggle him in.” He laughed. “I was convinced that I could hide him in my room. He’d live under my bed or in my closet and nobody would be the wiser.”

“But--” Viktor supplied, eyes twinkling at what was surely coming next.

“He started barking the minute we got inside. I mean...the  _ minute _ . I think it was the smell of food or the change in the air? I ran as fast as I could to my room but it was too late. Mom came to my door. I think she was going to tell me I had to get rid of Vicchan. Either find the owner or give him away. And then she just stopped and looked at me.” 

Yuri looked down at his arms, remembering. “I held him in my arms. He was shaking a little. He was like that for a while with most new people.”

“Except you?”

“Except me,” Yuri said, the quiet pride and gratitude over that washing over him even now. “Anyway, you convinced her to let me keep him.”

“Me?” Viktor’s eyes went wide. “How?”

“I had, um…” Yuri’s eyes rolled in embarrassment. “Posters. Of you. I had one of you and Makkachin and I just… I guess I was standing near it? She looked at my wall and then she looked at me holding Vicchan and she sort of deflated.”

Viktor laughed. “Your poor mother.”

“I think she knew she didn’t have a chance. And when nobody came forward to claim him...I got to keep him.” Yuri took a long sip of water and then leaned across the table, holding Viktor’s gaze. “So in a way, you’re responsible for me getting a dog.”

“Wow,” Viktor looked pleased. “Who knew my reach could be so wide?”

Yuri looked at him fondly.  _ You have no idea.  _ “So I called him Victor as a kind of...thank you. To you? Or my mother’s revelation? Or, or...fate? I literally tripped over Vicchan - alone and abandoned by the side of the road but…” Yuri nodded to himself. “That dog saved me. Helped me to cope when I needed it. Gave me something else to think about outside of myself. You know.”

“The unconditional love of a dog,” Viktor offered. “Yes, I know.”

“Not to mention the distracting nature of house training. About twenty minutes later Vicchan peed on my bed.” 

Viktor laughed. “Oh, you should hear about Makkachin. I used to lock up my shoes - with an actual lock - in a cabinet while I practiced. He’s frighteningly good at working doors.”

Yuri happily followed Viktor down the never ending path of dog stories for the rest of the evening. As they walked back home, take out bags groaning from Yuri’s hands, Viktor nudged Yuri with his elbow. “I had fun,” he said quietly.

“Me too.” Yuri sighed and looked up at the stars swirling above the orange lights of Hasetsu. He nudged him back, the take-out bag swinging into Viktor’s hip. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

“Beach.” 

Yuri laughed. “Isn’t it a little cold for the beach?”

Viktor scoffed. “Oh, Yuri. You’re so very soft. If there isn’t ice floating in it, it’s swimmable.” 

“No. Nooo way am I swimming tomorrow.” Yuri affected a half swoon. “It’s my rest day. How am I supposed to recover---” 

Viktor swiveled around so he was walking backwards, grinning at Yuri. “What if I promise hot springs afterwards?”

“No.”

“I know a great place. Cute. Affordable. Great people.”

Yuri laughed again and swung up a bag in mock defense. “No. Swimming.” But he tilted his head and pretended to consider the offer for a moment. 

Viktor clasped his hands and shook them dramatically. “Makkachin wants to go to the beach. You don’t want to disappoint Makkachin, do you? Poor, poor Makkachin...”

“Playing the sad dog card, hmm?” Yuri shook his head, then said, “Fine! I’ll go with you. But I’m  _ not _ going swimming.”

“Ha! I win!” Viktor said, as though there had ever really been any doubt. 

**________________**

The next day turned chilly, the scent of rain on the air. Viktor sat on the beach next to Yuri, Makkachin pressed against his other side. Yuri desperately tried not to sink into Viktor’s warm arm, warm thigh, warm everything...

They sat staring at the water, Makkachin panting quietly at Viktor’s side. After a while, Yuri broke the silence. “This was a good decision, Coach. Makkachin seems to think so, anyway.”

Viktor chuckled. “Coach, hmm? Back to the honorifics?”

“Well, when you earn them…”

“Hmm.” Viktor settled his shoulder against Yuri’s. “I’d be content with friend, too.” He inhaled deeply as though about to say something, then subsided into silence again. “You know,” he said finally. “I never got to spend as much time with Makkachin as I wanted. I got him when I was already skating and life just...passed. Makkachin was happy, so I was happy. Our story isn’t as dramatic as yours but...sometimes I think equally life changing. He’s...he’s my family, you know?”

Yuri nodded slowly, desperately curious about Viktor’s childhood - which led him to name his dog as family but nobody else. If Yuri had learned one important thing about Viktor in the time he’d spent as his coach, it was that a vein of sadness seemed to run through him. Oh, Viktor buried it under smiles, jokes. Nudity, on occasion. But it was there all the same.

“But these last few months I’ve had time. Time for Makkachin. Time to tour and play and just...just  _ be _ . And Makkachin. He--” Viktor heaved a deep sigh. “He sleeps more than he used to. But being here. I swear it’s making him younger.” Viktor laughed and combed his fingers through the poodle’s hair vigorously enough that Makkachin whined and half flopped to his side so that Viktor could rub his belly. “You have taken a liking to Yuri, haven’t you?” He met Yuri’s eye. “He likes it here. Space to roam. Lots of attention.” Viktor patted Makkachin’s belly. “And lots of snacks.”

Yuri couldn’t help but grin. “Everybody loves him.”

At this, Viktor doubled over and cooed, “Of course they do. Don’t they, Makkachin? Who wouldn’t love this face?” He mushed the dog’s soft cheeks.

Yuri laughed at the ridiculous lolling expressions of the poodle. He reached over Viktor and ruffled Makkachin’s fur. The dog whined happily and pushed into his touch, flopping towards him so his legs rested across Viktor’s lap. As he leaned over Viktor, something brushed softly against Yuri’s hair, barely there before it was gone again. It felt like a soft breeze. It felt like a kiss. 

Yuri froze, gaze trained on Makkachin, painfully aware of Viktor’s warm body beneath his outstretched arm. And then Viktor settled back, propping himself on his arms, and the moment passed. Yuri sat up, then mirrored Viktor’s slump, but not before he snuck a look out of the corner of his eye to see Viktor, rosy cheeked, staring off over the ocean. 

Viktor cleared his throat and stood abruptly in a cloud of disturbed sand. Yuri jumped a little and stared up at Viktor, silhouetted against the blue sky and steel water. 

Viktor extended his hand to Yuri. “We should do some practice today, after all. Like we did this summer.” He clapped his hands imperiously and gracefully positioned his arms in the air. “Style and placement are important, Yuri.”

Yuri gaped at him, hands braced to push himself up off of the sand. And then he smiled. Heart thudding in his chest, he settled back even further into the sand, resting on his bent elbows. “No.”

Viktor’s brows rose high as his hairline. “No?”

“I practice all the time,” Yuri said in mock sorrow. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “But you? You’re woefully out of practice.”

“Me?”

“Terribly out of practice.”

Viktor rolled his eyes and held out his hand impatiently. “I’m on the ice nearly as much as you, Yuri.” 

“Mmm.” Yuri shook his head. “I think I need to be sure.” He looked up at Viktor and grinned, arching his brow in a mirror of Viktor’s most imperious look. “Dance for me, Viktor.” 

Viktor’s eyes widened and Yuri wondered for a moment if he’d actually shocked Viktor into silence. Then his face relaxed into a blade sharp smile and he settled into the opening stance of  _ Eros _ . “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you.” Viktor gracefully pulled his arms around his head, like pushing back a veil. And then he began to dance. 

Yuri watched Viktor weave across the sand, his mouth dry. He had a tendency to do this - incite a challenge in someone else and then face the consequences when they rose to it. Yuri wondered what would come of this particular dance. Viktor slid across the sand, grace and strength evident in every move he made. And then, suddenly, his arms were waving wildly and he careened head first into Yuri’s lap. 

“Viktor!” Yuri gasped, arms closing around the other man instinctively. “Are you alright?” 

Viktor picked his head up, arms braced on either side of Yuri’s legs. “Makk--” His expression morphed from disgruntled to confused as he turned his head curiously. “Makkachin?”

“Um.” Yuri looked around them and pointed silently down the beach where Makkachin busily dug a pit into the sand. 

“Ah. I’m sorry. I-- I tripped. I thought I tripped on Makkachin. I could have sworn it felt like a dog underfoot.”

Yuri reached forward and gently brushed sand off of Viktor’s sleeve, Viktor still braced over him.  _ Help _ , he thought. Viktor turned his steady gaze to him and Yuri felt red trace its familiar path across his body. Viktor flicked his tongue between his lips and Yuri’s eyes immediately dropped to his mouth.  _ Help me _ .

Suddenly, Viktor inhaled sharply and scrambled back as though stung. “I’m sorry, Yuri,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Um. I’m fine.”  _ Absolutely not fine, not at all. _ For a moment, Yuri had teetered on the precipice of taking what he wanted. He had almost pressed his lips to Viktor, slid his hands into his shirt to touch his skin - so much more deliciously enticing when hidden. He had almost  _ kissed _ Viktor. Seeing Viktor now, backed away as though he were scared, Yuri had the sudden odd sensation of looking at his own reflection. Viktor was attracted to him, he was sure of it. But to take that step, to cross that line? They’d both been pushing at this bubble for so long, testing and retreating, afraid it might burst if they went too far. If they attempted to move beyond friendship and it failed? Yuri suspected that might devastate them both.

To ease the odd look on Viktor’s face, Yuri resorted to teasing. “Looks like you needed the practice after all.”

Something spiked hot in Viktor’s eyes and then he let out a shout of a laugh and tackled Yuri in a flying lunge. Yuri toppled backward, his head thumping into the sand as Viktor threw his full weight into the attack. Viktor took both hands and tousled them in Yuri’s hair. 

“Aaah, Viktor! Cut it out!” Laughing, he levered Viktor off of him so he tumbled into the sand next to him, then laid a hand on his chest, pointing a finger at Viktor's nose. “I'll get you for that.” Viktor panted underneath Yuri’s warning hand, mouth soft, eyes wide, and Yuri forgot how to breathe. And then Makkachin was upon them, yelping and leaping into the fray. The moment evaporated in a flurry of muddy paws and enthusiastic dog kisses. 

**________________**

**January: an Epilogue**

Smoke from the lit incense stick curled ghost pale along the wood of the butsudan. Yuri sat, loose limbed and happy, and cradled the old photo of Vicchan. “When I was young I looked at my life as a puzzle. Pick up the right pieces, fit them in place, and the whole picture magically resolves. Except I felt like I never could find the right pieces and the puzzle never seemed to look like much anyway. I decided soon after I moved to Denver that life wasn’t a puzzle. It was just an endless muddle of choices and half grasped chances. And then I met Viktor.

“And he was the puzzle piece that everything - every piece of my life - connected to. I never knew because I could never see the whole. I didn’t know I was missing a part of myself.” Yuri closed his eyes and savored the scent of sandalwood and clove. “Sometimes I wonder just how much of a role you played in getting us together. Calming me, helping me cope with the stress. Helping me to not feel alone.” Yuri grinned fondly and propped the photo back in its nook. “And there was that day at the beach.”

Yuri looked around the small room where he had spent so many restless nights in the past year. “I’m going to Russia. It’s not my first time leaving home, but it’s the first time I’ve felt happy about it.”

He drew himself up so that he sat up straight, formally. “And it’s the second time I leave you. I’ll always wish--” Yuri shook his head. ”I’ll always regret not being here for you. But I think maybe you’ve never stopped being here for me. You’ll look after Mom and Dad and make sure they get enough rest? And Mari. She needs to go out more. She deserves to have fun.” He grinned a little. ”And maybe hide her cigarettes. I’ll be back to visit.” Yuri rested his hand on the low shelf as though in comfort. “Maybe you’ll be here.” He looked towards the night-dark window. “Maybe you won’t. But I’ll never forget you.” He snuffed out the incense and pushed himself to stand, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Vicchan.”

The corridor was quiet, softly lit by a haze-clouded moon, and Yuri slowly made his way back to the small room at the end of the hall. He’d spent so many years here, half expecting that his life would end precisely where it began: entangled in the family business. It felt strange to think that whenever he returned it truly would be just to visit. 

Quietly, Yuri slipped through his bedroom door. With the blackout curtains shut tight in his room, Yuri couldn’t see the other occupants in his bed, but Makkachin whuffed softly in greeting. He wove around stacked boxes, ready for shipping in the morning, and past the two suitcases standing ready at the foot of the bed. 

Yuri slipped under the covers, sliding carefully in to fit his body around Viktor’s. He curled one arm across Viktor’s chest, hugging him close enough for Viktor to sigh in his sleep and burrow further into his embrace. Makkachin rolled closer as well and Yuri flicked his hand up to run his fingers through Makkachin’s curls. He buried his nose in Viktor’s hair and breathed in happily. 

A small weight, like a warm stone, settled at the curve of Yuri’s back. Yuri smiled into Viktor’s hair and drifted back to sleep, Vicchan by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2  
> I had to entirely rely on Google Translate for this section. If using Google Translate has taught me anything, it’s that this is probably horribly wrong. Please feel free to correct me! Here’s Viktor’s phone conversation in English: 
> 
> “Wow, Mila! No, he didn’t. No!” Viktor laughed again. There was a pause, and then he said, “Oh, Yuri is great.”
> 
> Yuri froze at the mention of his name.
> 
> “You should see him skate. I’ll send you a video. No, no, I’ll send it now. Yes, well, you’ll see him in Moscow.”
> 
> There was another brief silence and then, “Oh, me? I’ve been good. Happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. The fun I’ve had with Yuri... Hmm? Of course I miss it.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Mila. Can’t I just--”  
>  [ return to text ]

**Author's Note:**

> Because my headcanon is that anyone who keeps comparing someone to music is really into music himself. So. Songs referenced: 
> 
> [A clumsy little bear was walking through the forest](http://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=3219)
> 
> [Bruno Mars - Just the way you are](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjhCEhWiKXk) (because I am SO cheesy)
> 
> [Keane - Somewhere only we know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0p_jeoOkhq0)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Find me on [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) @whichstiel.


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